“I swear by all my vows and promises not to make you my wife nor my sweetheart for a year and a day.”
“I will go with you if you let it be that I fall into a slumber that will last for a year and a day.”
“I will let that be, fairest maid within the seas of Eirinn.”
“I will go with you if you will tell me what will take me out of that slumber.”
“If one cuts a tress of your hair with a stroke of the Sword of Light it will take you out of that slumber.”
The blue falcon that was behind heard what the King of the Land of Mist said. She rose up and remained overhead with her wings outspread. Fedelma took the ring off her own finger and put it on the finger of the King of Ireland’s Son, and she wrote upon the ground in Ogham letters, “The King of the Land of Mist.”
“If it be not you who wakens me, love,” she said, “may it be that I never waken.”
“Come, daughter of the Enchanter,” said the King of the Land of Mist.
“Pluck the branch of hawthorn and give it to me that I may fall into my slumber here,” said Fedelma.
The King of the Land of Mist plucked a flowering branch of hawthorn and gave it to her. She held the flowers against her face and fell into slumber. For a while she and the King of Ireland’s Son were side by side in sleep.